“I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. It had been her home for hundreds of years. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother.
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